Departure's Eve
by Ancalime8301
Summary: Frodo and Primula try to say good-bye the night before Frodo sails West. (Part of an AU in which Frodo has a daughter.)


A/N: I touch on Frodo's leaving in the last vignette of "Growing Up;" this is the evening prior to that parting. In honor of the last conversation I never had with my Dad.

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Departure's Eve

She helped her father settle upon the high stone bench before turning to take in the view -and quite a view it was. The hill beneath her feet swept gracefully down to the sand below, the sand ran into the calm waters of the bay, and, almost at the edge of sight, the waters of the bay melded seamlessly with the restless waves of the Sea. The sun presided over the scene, its setting glow casting golden rays over the grey waters and edging the crests of the waves with prismatic colors.

A white ship bobbed slightly where it was tied to the quay that extended into the bay, and the sight seemed so familiar that she spoke almost without thinking. "I have been here before." It was a statement, but also a question: had she really been here? Or was this calm setting of tranquility merely an image from a dream?

The salty wind whipped her hair across her face and into her eyes; she brushed the long strands away impatiently, but they soon returned again and she stopped trying to tame the unruly mass. Her skirts also felt the tug of the wind, blowing restlessly about her legs, but she paid them no heed. For long moments she stood watching the sun slink slowly behind the clouds rising in the west, but the answer she awaited still didn't come. She was about to repeat herself when her father began to speak.

"You were so small," he said, somewhat dreamily. He was sitting upon the bench, eyes closed, and face tipped toward the dying rays of the sun, his shorter curls blowing about in the breeze and showing the few dark strands that remained. His face was the most peaceful she'd seen it in quite a while. "You were just a fauntling, when we came to bid them farewell."

"Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, and Gandalf, yes? And cousin Bilbo," she supplied, coming to sit beside her father as more memories of the event surfaced. "He was very old."

He chuckled. "Yes, he was. He wanted to hold you again before he left, but you were too heavy for him to lift, and you were very restless that day. Toddling here and there, you nearly fell into the bay more than once. Only Gandalf could keep you from squirming, but even that was only long enough for Bilbo and I to say good-bye. He wanted me to come. I almost did."

"Why didn't you sail then?" It was a question she'd been waiting to ask for years, ever since she first learned of the gift granted her Da, to sail West if his burdens still troubled him. She'd been wanting to ask, but the time never seemed ripe... here, on the eve of his departure, the question must be answered. There would be no other opportunity.

Frodo was silent for several moments, weighing his words carefully, then stated simply, "You. I didn't sail then because of you."

Primula gazed out over the water, now a deep blue with the approach of evening. "I don't understand."

"If I sailed, there were two options for you: take you with me, or leave you behind in the Shire. Taking you with me, well, once Bilbo and I passed on, that would leave you alone, the only one of your kind amongst the elves. I deeply respect the elves, but they aren't hobbits, and I didn't think they could raise you properly. They do not understand many things about our kind, even though Bilbo had spent so many years in Elrond's house. And I did not wish to leave you to live out your lonely days amongst immortal beings twice your size.

"Leaving you in the Shire was simply not a choice. I refused to abandon you to the goodwill of my friends and relatives, just so I could seek some measure of healing for my ills. I did not think that you were given to me so that I could throw you aside in such a manner. So I remained, with you, in hopes that raising you might bring some measure of well-being and satisfaction, despite the haunting of old pains."

She was almost afraid to speak, for she wasn't sure her voice would function. "Did it?" she asked hoarsely, on the verge of tears from realizing what she was about to lose.

He stiffly put his arms around her and hugged her tenderly. "Oh, yes. More than I ever dreamed." He nudged her head to rest on his shoulder as he held her close.

"But it wasn't enough... things have gotten worse." The pain in her voice was evident, and he dearly hoped she didn't blame herself for his worsening condition of late.

"It was enough to help me all your life until now, and that is more than enough," he assured her. "I would not have lasted this long without it, I am certain. Now I have seen you grow into a lovely lass and marry a good lad; there is not much more any parent could wish for."

"You won't see your grandchildren."

"No, I won't. Just like my parents." He sighed. "Promise me you'll remember that I would stay if I could."

She nodded against his shoulder.

"I would stay... but I cannot burden you any longer."

"I know. I'd wondered for a long time about this, so..." she shrugged a bit. "I expected it, eventually."

"But that doesn't make the pain any less," Frodo said knowingly, turning his eyes from the top of his daughter's dark head to the star-studded sky overhead, in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

"No, it doesn't," Prim replied, almost unnecessarily. Both understood.


End file.
